Ultimately, I’m just figuring it out. Aren’t we all? I would stand to guess that most people have a silent awe mixed with slight resentment when they encounter someone that has it all ‘figured out.’ I have always been wary of those people. I’ve never been drawn to something too polished, to clean - perhaps out of necessity, being clumsy and inherently messy, but it’s worked out. Not entirely credited to impatience, but in conjunction with daylight hours and hunger and just knowing when to leave well enough alone, have allowed me to not be an agonizing perfectionist.  It has given my work the oxymoronic polished yet natural aesthetic. 

 

My life has been a series of events that I’ve got floating around my brain in moments and memories. Some are traumatic and triggering, some are stunning with instant joy, some even have a soundtrack. The point is there’s a lot of imagery, emotions and stories floating around there. For a creative person it can become crowded. So, I figured it out – from a very early age I might add – create art, expel these thoughts and I didn’t feel overrun.  

 

Without getting into the traumatic bits, let’s say I’ve had a lot of deviations from the direction I thought I was going to go in my life. I didn’t wait around for things to be ideal, (impatience is a virtue) but just dealt with stuff as it happened and figured it out, with some wiggle room obviously.  I extend this philosophy to my creative outlets. I usually have an idea of the composition, the palette, but usually I... just figure it out and let it unfold as I go. I love when the moments happen in a piece. I love the translation of those into real life: the unplanned and wonderful. The accumulation of a story, the design principals and techniques all working together to create that feeling, that stab-you-in-the-gut-emotional-connection, that maybe you can’t quite articulate but it’s there. You’ve felt it. You figured it out if only for a moment. 

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Lately I have been delving deeper into the traumatic bits. I have explored my own body, my control and loss of control within my own chronic health, for better or for worse. I have always had conversations with other women about our bodies, about what we know, what we’re told and what we’re not told. I have always known most of my experiences aren’t unique, however I have felt that even more lately. Not in a diminutive way, in an empowering, I-need-to-get-this-out-there kind of way.